One Equal Temper
by twiceonsunday
Summary: Mal and the crew come across the sole survivor of a violent conflict
1. Made Weak by Time and Fate

One Equal Temper of Heroic Hearts  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: Between you, me, and the fence post, the idea of my owning intellectual property rights for anything even remotely _Firefly_ related is somewhere left of ludicrous.  
  
  
A/N: This is my first go, so be nice, but critical.   
  
  
I just started some grad work in the UK, and am trying to get used to their quotation system, so an inverted comma denotes speech, two is for speech within a quotation.  
  
River's literary allusions should be pretty obvious, especially to Firefly fans, who, as we all know, are smarter than the average bear. But, for those who are curious, I think I have used J R R Tolkien, J K Rowling, T S Eliot, Shakespeare, and Homer for now. I'm sure there will be more in later chapters, assuming that there are later chapters. The fic and chapter titles are from Tennyson's 'Ulysses'  
  
  
  
  
Chapter One: Made Weak By Time and Fate  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
I should not have lived. Should never have lived.  
  
How? How could I be alive when so many have died? So many have been killed. Murdered.   
  
Survival in the face of such pain, such death. It is absurd, inexcusable, almost obscene.   
  
What right had I to live? Why should my skin still hold my body in, when blood and guts and gore adorn the floor, the last remains of men and women whose skin failed them in the end. Where once their were comrades in arms, now there are only the dismembered arms of comrades, strewn about the deck. Comrades in arms. Babes in arms, more like. And now they are all gone. But I am still here. I should not have lived.  
  
An eyeball stares up at me, accusingly, from the remains of a shattered skull. 'How can you live?' it asks. 'Yes,' I say, 'but how can I die?' I look around at shards of broken glass, jagged ends of metal spikes, the debris of a ship in ruin. A myriad of ways to end my life present themselves to me, eagerly, seductively. They tease me with promises of peace. In an instant, I could take my rightful place among the dead. But I fear that the dead would not accept me. It was a crime to live through such horror; it would be an insult to die now for anything less. Because I survived this, I must survive everything else. Even life.   
  
But I should not have lived. So, I will sit here among the dead, where I belong, and wait for time to do what I cannot. I will wait for death to catch up with me.  
  
  
***  
  
  
'Dammit, Mal, they stole that what we rightfully hijacked. It ain't right!' To accentuate his point, Jayne slammed his pint glass on the galley table, spilling half its contents in the process. 'See what they done now? They made me lose my liquor,' Jayne added, licking each finger on his right hand in an attempt to salvage his drink. 'There otta be a law.'  
  
Malcolm Reynolds rolled his eyes, and glared back at the sulking mercenary. 'Well, what is it exactly that you're proposin? That we go to the authorities? And say what? "Excuse me, Mr. Alliance Man, but while we was smuggling some illicit-type material under your noses, some bad guys with big guns came and took it. Could you go an' get em, so that we can finish up our highly illegal deal by sellin' the stuff to a crooked fence? Please." Zoe, maybe you should go tell your husband to get the Alliance on the line. Jayne has a request he'd like to be makin.'  
  
'Yes, sir. I'll go do that now, sir,' Zoe replied, without moving from her position behind the kitchen sink.   
  
Stifled giggles emerged from under the oven, where Kayley lay busily fixing broken things. Jayne shot a dirty look at the mechanic's feet, the only visible part of her petite anatomy. 'Aw, Mal, that ain't what I meant, and you know it. Its just that job was worth a lot. Woulda been a big share for the crew. That's an awful large bit of spendin' money I ain't got. Shit.'  
  
Jayne was about to continue to air his list of grievances when Wash stuck his head in the doorway. 'Did I hear someone in here request an Alliance-type-person? I'm just wondering, because, well, apparently bureaucracy isn't as slow as we thought. There's an alliance ship coming up our way. Should be here in about a half an hour. How's that for service?'  
  
The captain swore in Chinese, and sprang up to follow Wash onto the bridge. He pointed a finger at Jayne, and only half in jest declared, 'somehow, this is your fault. Last thing I need right now is the damn Alliance breathing down my gorram neck, searching my ship and what not. What in the seven hells are they doing out this far in the black, anyway?'  
  
'There are fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the world.'  
  
Everyone turned in silence to stare at the disheveled waif, trying to puzzle out her ominous prediction. River looked briefly up from her elaborate finger-paint design, surprised at the sudden attention. 'What?' She demanded to know.  
  
'Gorram creepifying thing to say, that's what,' Jayne muttered, 'I don't even know what it means, and I got goose bumps.'  
  
'Its not as though she does it on purpose,' Simon countered, protectively hovering over his sister.  
  
'Gorram hell she don't.'  
  
'Enough,' Mal interjected. 'We still have that Alliance ship to deal with. Doc, you can insult Jayne later. And Jayne, you know damn well that you can kick the living shit out of the doctor at a later date, Probably will, too. For now, we play nice. _Dong ma_?'  
  
  
***  
  
  
'This ship was meant for battle,' a male voice said. 'Looks like they got more'n they could handle, sir,' a woman replied. 'Gorram Alliance, got what they deserved.' Another male voice, but rougher, deeper. Then the first voice again. 'No one deserves reavers.' The sound of human speech shook me from my reverie, but my body remained lethargic from too many days without movement, so I sat where I was, resigned to wait for them to come to me.  
  
I did not wait for long. A tall man in a long brown coat entered the room. A slight grimace graced my lips as I realized the irony of my fate. I had survived reavers only to be found by a rebel. The browncoat was flanked on either side by a woman, also in a brown coat, and a large man with several guns.   
  
'What the...' The gun-man uttered, the first to catch sight of me, slumped among the shadows at the far end of the room. 'Who the hell is that?'  
  
'The boy who lived.'  
  
All three turned to glare at the pixie-like figure that had just slipped through the doorframe. 'Except not a boy. A girl.'  
  
The browncoat, seemingly unsure of whether to be angry or protective, pulled the girl in to his frame, and asked 'what're you doing in this place, River. Not a sight for pretty eyes like yours.'  
  
'Nonetheless,' the one named River replied, 'a sight they have seen. Besides, its too late to send me back now, captain.'  
  
Sighing in resignation, the captain turned his attention back to me. I still sat, immobile, too weary, in spirit or in body, I know not which, to speak.  
  
'Zoe?' he asked the woman next to him, 'that tattoo look familiar to you?'  
  
'Special forces, sir. Alliance elite.'  
  
'Thought so. Right. Jayne, this calls for caution. She looks too hurt to be a threat, but guns up, on the off chance she ain't.'  
  
'Not a threat,' River announced. 'Chief Joseph. She will fight no more forever. She should have been a pair of ragged claws scuttling about the floors of silent seas. She should have died hereafter.' And then to me, apologetically, she explained 'they fear the Greeks.'  
  
'But,' I said, surprised to find that I still had some strength, 'I bear no gifts.' To demonstrate, I opened my hands and displayed my empty palms before letting them drop to my sides, fatigued by the effort.  
  
Confusion replaced some of the wariness I read in their faces, and guns dropped ever so slightly from the ready position.'d'what she say make sense to you?' the captain asked me, gesturing towards the pixie.  
  
I smiled wryly. 'Contrary to popular belief, captain, not all Alliance officers are incompetent nitwits.'  
  
'Coulda fooled me' the one called Jayne mumbled.  
  
Ignoring him, I went on. 'I studied at the military academy. I know a line from the _Iliad_ when I hear it. And the girl is right. I won't fight you. Can't fight you. Just leave me here to die. Go away, and let me be with my crew.'  
  
'Not just as yet, I don't think,' the browncoat replied. I winced. Typical of a resistance man not to let a thing drop when he should. 'I'm Malcolm Reynolds, captain of the firefly that just found you floatin' about in the black. And what I'd like to know is how and where the reavers found you. I figure what, since my crew is still living and I'd like to keep it that way, I could use some information.'  
  
'Well, captain Malcolm Reynolds, they didn't find us. We found them. And we found them, because we were looking.'  
  
With that, the last of my strength gave out. I remember falling to the floor, and then there was black, and then there was nothing at all.


	2. But Strong in Will

Chapter Two  
  
  
disclaimer: still don't own em  
  
A/N Chapter two. This chappie has a lot of exposition. Lots o talk, no action, as it were. That should change in a chapter or two, but let me know if this is a bad direction to go in, and I should skip my stupid philosophical, pseudo-psychological ramblings. I'm all for participatory writing. This is, after all, _fan _fiction. At this point I am assuming that I will write 4 more chapters after this (To Strive, To Seek, To Find, And Not to Yield). After all, this is way more fun than what I should be doing.   
  
an explanatory note on the use of G-d' . Don't worry, the o' key on my computer works just fine. Its just that Jews prefer not to write the name of the Big Girl upstairs, and while I may not have that much faith, I do believe in the ordering powers of ritual and tradition. So, to maintain my sense of rootedness, I respect the power inherent in the name. So G-d it is.  
  
River's literary allusions. Not too many this time. Just the state motto of VA (I thinks its VA. Anyone out there from VA?), a couple of poems by e e cummings and one by Walt Whitman. If you are curious about the Olaf' reference, I have included the entire poem by cummings at the bottom of the page. Its one of my favorites. So is my father moved through dooms of love,' the other poem used, but that's too long to put here.  
  
  
on with the story  
  
  
But Strong in Will  
  
  
***  
  
Serenity's crew stood gathered outside the locked door to the infirmary, peering in through the large panes of glass at the unconscious form within. Varying levels of concern and fear were evident on each face.  
  
You sure you took all the knives and needles and such out of there, Doc?' Wash asked incredulously. You remember what happened the last time we had a survivor in there. What with the forking of his own tongue, skin mutilation, and general homicidal tendencies.'  
  
I checked three times. And I gave her double the normal dose of sedative for a person of her body weight.' Simon sounded as though he was trying to calm his own fears, as well as those of the pilot.   
  
She don't look too crazy,' Kayley offered uncertainly.  
  
No. she certainly doesn't.' Inara chimed in. Which begs another question. What do you plan to do with her, Mal, when she does wake up? You can't keep her locked in that room indefinitely. And with your, ah, vocational choices, it would seem unwise to keep an alliance officer on board any longer than is strictly necessary.'  
  
I was hoping we could drop her off planet side before she woke up. Make her someone else's problem.'  
  
If I may offer an opinion, captain Reynolds, I'm not sure that would be the best course of action. If, as you say, the alliance sent her on a mission in search of reavers, allowing her to return to her superiors might prove inadvisable. The alliance strives for greater control, more power. We have all seen what they are capable of doing to obtain those ends,' Book glanced back at River, engaged in a series of pirouettes at the back of the room. If they have some new plan involving reavers, G-d help us all.'  
  
Don't really care what their plan is, preacher, as long as it don't involve me. I ain't responsible for the whole gorram verse. Just me, my boat, and my crew.'  
  
We are all a part of something greater than ourselves, Captain Reynolds. You have a responsibility to the rest of humanity, whether you wish it or not.'  
  
Don't know about that, Shepherd. But I also got no love for the alliance. Kinda makes me eager to thwart their nefarious scheming. We wait until she wakes up, find out what in the gorram hell this is all about, and then... Well, then we do somethin' else. Lookin for reavers. Wouldn'ta thought even the alliance that crazy. Guess they bit off more'n they could chew on this one..'  
  
_Sic semper tyrannis_.' River interjected, as though no further explanation ought to be required.  
  
Jayne looked up and grunted. Only sick person round here is you, with that habit of cuttin me, girl.'  
  
Simon started forward in anger. _Sic_, not sick, you idiot.'  
  
Ya lost me there doc.'  
  
s-i-c, you illiterate oaf. Its Latin. _sic semper tyrannis_. It means thus always to tyrants.'  
  
Wash raised his hand. Um, sorry to go back a bit here, but I'm still not clear on how we know she hasn't turned into a flesh-eating self-mutilating um, mutilator. T-Rex and I just want to be sure, you know, before she kills us. I mean, no human could survive reavers and still be sane...'  
  
***  
  
I began to regain consciousness slowly, picked up only fragments of the muted conversation outside. No human could survive.' The words rolled around in my head, echoing my own silent fears.  
  
No human could survive. But I had. And a little to sane for my own liking. At least there might have been peace in lunacy, a surrendering of guilt. I had survived. What did that make me? Maybe the voice was right. Maybe there were some things a human should not be able to endure. But I had come to the limit, had crossed over, and I was still here. For survival, my body was willing to ignore pain, grief, death. Something in me was willing to abandon all loyalties, all loves, all compassion, everything to save itself. I did it in Serenity Valley, and how many countless times since. And now...it is one time too many. Perhaps I _should_ mark my skin, I mused. There should be some external evidence of the monster within, the one that, like a reaver, was willing to abandon humanity for continued life.  
  
But even now I can't believe it. Can't believe there isn't something more to me than that. I have a choice. Yes, a choice. I can choose not to survive at any cost. I can choose to place my own survival below my humanity. I will no longer save my life at the expense of myself. Will no longer ignore the pain of others for my own convenience. I will not kill. Reavers kill. Animal instincts kill. I will not live because I can, I will die because I should.  
  
A great wave of relief and release washed over me, and I fell into a sleep that was not drug-induced.  
  
***  
  
River was the first one to brave the survivor's presence. She picked the lock and crept silently into the infirmary late that night. She knew that the woman was awake, had sensed her intermittent rise to consciousness throughout the afternoon. Still, River entered the room tentatively, silently, like a young bird unsure of its surroundings.  
You are not a reaver,' she declared to the woman sitting opposite. You are Anne. And I am not an ocean. I am River. You want to be like Olaf, glad and big. But pushing will come to shoving, and you are not as blond as him. Maybe you are more brave. O captain my captain. he is braver than us all.'  
  
This captain, he is a good man?'   
  
I say though hate were why men breath, because my captain lived his soul, love is the whole, and more than all.'  
  
You are not one for clarity, are you, sweetheart. Still, you knew my name, and you seem to know...more... You're a reader, aren't you? What are you doing all the way out here, with this bunch of lawless independents? I would have thought the alliance...'  
  
With that, a light went on abruptly in the hallway, and Simon came storming through the infirmary door, his shirttails half-tucked sloppily into his trousers. Get away from my sister! River- get away from there - she might be dangerous,' he shouted.  
  
I am not going to strangle her with my shoestrings, if that is what you are worried about,' the woman replied.  
  
Simon grabbed his sister and retreated to the far side of the room, still clutching her protectively to his chest. Even so, you're alliance! For all I know you did this to her. You could be trying to lure her back! I will not let her go back there. Not for anything.'  
  
The commotion had awoken the rest of the crew, who gradually came stumbling down the hallway.  
  
I did not do this, young man. Didn't even know it was being done. I heard rumors... But I did not do this. I have enough on my conscience without adding this.'  
  
You must have known. Or had some idea. You must know who...' Simon desperately continued. You're special forces. Mal says that tattoo means special forces. You know things. You must. You must...'  
  
Anne scanned the faces of the men and women who had recently entered the room. Anything to avoid the doctor's pitiful pleas. Her gaze moved past the captain, she had seen him before, on her ship. Malcolm Reynolds. There were others as well. Two she remembered. And a man in a brightly colored shirt, two women, and then, a face she did not expect.  
  
Her eyes fixed on his weather worn features, on the graying mass of hair pulled back from his face, and on the Bible he gripped in his right hand. I don't know,' she insisted, responding to Simon, yet never moving her gaze from the shepherd's face. But he might. Ask him.'  
  
All eyes turned to Book, who calmly, if somewhat sheepishly, returned their stares.  
  
Preacher?' Mal asked. You wanna explain this?'  
  
No, not particularly' the man responded. But I don't think I have a choice.'  
  
***  
  
  
  
for those who are curious:   
  
**i sing of Olaf glad and big**  
  
**_e. e. cummings_**  
  
  
i sing of Olaf glad and big  
whose warmest heart recoiled at war:  
a conscientious object-or  
  
his wellbelovid colonel(trig  
westpointer most succinctly bred)  
took erring Olaf soon in hand;   
but--though an host of overjoyed   
noncoms(first knocking on the head   
him)do through icy waters roll   
that helplessness which others stroke  
with brushes recently employed   
anent this muddy toiletbowl,   
while kindred intellects evoke   
allegiance per blunt instruments--  
Olaf(being to all intents  
a corpse and wanting any rag   
upon what G-d unto him gave)   
responds,without getting annoyed   
"I will not kiss your fucking flag"  
  
straightway the silver bird looked grave  
(departing hurriedly to shave)  
  
but--though all kinds of officers   
(a yearning nation's blueeyed pride)   
their passive prey did kick and curse  
until for wear their clarion   
voices and boots were much the worse,   
and egged the firstclassprivates on  
his rectum wickedly to tease   
by means of skilfully applied  
bayonets roasted hot with heat--  
Olaf(upon what were once knees)  
does almost ceaselessly repeat  
"there is some shit I will not eat"  
  
our president,being of which  
assertions duly notified   
threw the yellowsonofabitch  
into a dungeon,where he died  
  
Christ(of His mercy infinite)  
i pray to see;and Olaf,too  
  
preponderatingly because  
unless statistics lie he was  
more brave than me:more blond than you.  
  
  
  



End file.
